


drink

by i_am_sion



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, One-sided pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_sion/pseuds/i_am_sion
Summary: fairy tales, a little bit of beer, and some time alone.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	drink

"Come have a drink with us, they said. It'll be fun, they said."

Byleth watched Seteth gripe over his stein and hid a smile in his own.

It _was_ fun, he supposed.

...fun for Manuela, who was already on her 6th drink of the night, along with Jeralt and Alois, who, swaying arm in arm together, were loudly egging her on to sing. Poor Hanneman was sent (per the absolute rules of rock-paper-scissors) as damage control, but it seemed he was no match for Catherine and Shamir's drunken antics, with the former readily picking fights with almost every man who so much as breathed in their direction, and the latter almost ready to break her glass over the knight's head in irritation. The sniper had hoped for a much quieter night out.

Yes, faculty night out. 

Rhea encouraged them to participate in order to become closer with one another, especially with a new professor amongst their ranks. Though she only had good intentions for the staff, the monthly event more often caused rifts in the bonds amongst them, rather than mend or strengthen them. When the monastery itself was the only source of festivities in a hundred mile radius, going into town was the closest thing to entertainment they could get, and that really could only mean one of two things: poorly coordinated theater in a cold outdoor pantheon or getting absolutely shitfaced in a local tavern. On a good day, most of the staff at Garreg Mach weren't of the more artistic sensibilities, so… bar hopping it was.

Byleth wasn't a fan of the taste of alcohol, and he felt as if he had to be wary of inheriting his father's love for drink. He sipped his lager tentatively atop the barstool next to Seteth's, head low and avoiding eye contact with the rowdy crowd they had the misfortune of coming in with. Seteth did the same except he drank steadily, putting away two hefty glasses with the greatest of ease. The professor watched intently and in awe. Seteth had unbuttoned his collar-- his supposed version of "casual attire"-- and Byleth could see the strong muscles in his neck. He bit his lip, seeing his Adam's apple bob as he downed his drink. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he chastised himself for getting so excited over such a small sliver of exposed skin. He felt stupid. He felt like some innocent young maiden.

Still… he was captivated by the broad expanse of his shoulders and the sharp lines of his strong jaw--

"Is there something on my face, Professor?"

Byleth was taken aback as he was caught staring. "No, sorry," he said, nose in his glass.

"Hm." Seteth sighed as he stared blankly at the wall of liquor before them. Byleth could see the coming onslaught of a migraine in the furrows of his brow.

_Damn._

A loud crash sounded behind them, woody like a toppled table and full of shattered glass. Hanneman yelped.

" _What_ did you say, old man?" Catherine bellowed, obviously more than peeved.

At this, the pair sank lower in their seats.

"What, uhm." Byleth cleared his throat. "What play was on tonight?"

"Nothing particularly of interest," Seteth replied, promptly polishing off his third drink of the night and motioning for another. "The Tragedy of Ekshith. I am not a fan of it myself, but the playwright shows promise."

The professor liked the way he spoke. The way he said "particularly," each consonant sharp on his tongue. The way his tone flipped higher and lower through the word.

The bartender placed a full stein in front of him, and its foamy contents sloshed over the lip as the counter shook. A classic bar brawl was breaking out behind them and they dared not look.

Seteth's lips pressed into a thin irate line, and Byleth noted he had dimples. 

His throat felt oddly dry, and he took a sip. "What is it about?"

"It's an old tale of two lovers," he went on to explain over the ruckus swelling around them. 

Cooly ignoring the sounds of another chair crashing into a wall, Seteth rose from his seat and produced a small, jingling pouch from his pocket, which he gently placed on the counter. He paused, considering and calculating damages. It seemed he was not in the mood to control his rowdy staff-- dignity and reputation be damned, he simply was not having it. Wordlessly he set a second bag of coins before the distraught tavern owner, turned, and began to leave, drink in hand.

He had no relations to the blond sword-wielding maniac standing atop the tangle of unconscious men nor to the mercenary who guffawed shamelessly at the crest scholar receiving a wet willie from an esteemed Knight of Seiros. At that moment, Manuela deemed it appropriate to slide into the empty chair beside Byleth and hit on him and slash or the bartender. Whoever was easier to take home with her.

Nope.

Dutifully, Byleth threw back his own glass, downing its contents quickly before paying his own tab and following Seteth out into the cold night air. 

He found Seteth around back where the horses were tied, leaning against the wall. He was looking up towards the stars, arms crossed over his chest with the same, stern look he always wore furrowing his brow. There was always an underlying emotion lurking deep within his eyes, one that the young professor had yet learned to grasp. It was… an exhausted kind of sadness, lonely and fierce and raging, but still sadness all the same. It made Byleth feel cold despite the alcohol in his belly. It always did.

Byleth leaned beside him, the wall vibrating slightly with the commotion inside. "An old tale of two lovers…?"

"Hm?" The older man looked at him quizzically before remembering. "Oh. Yes, Ekshith and Alaba. Alaba was a princess, promised to the prince of a neighboring land of dark wizards and beasts, and Ekshith her loyal retainer. With the princess' marriage, the king and queen hoped to quell the hundreds of years of war between the two countries."

"Sounds pretty standard for a fairy tale."

"Some tell the story to be true, a lesson to be learned from a faraway place from long, long ago." Seteth shrugged. "The poor servant had been in love with the princess from the moment he had laid eyes on her, and made a vow within himself that he would save her from her beast husband. In spite of her resolve to serve her people, he dared plan to steal the princess and run away with her."

"You don't seem too fond of Ekshith."

He did not remark on this before continuing. "Upon discovering her retainer's plot, Alaba is unable to dissuade him from carrying out his plans, only to discover that she harbors a deep love for him in return. They elope, consummating their marriage before the goddess and vowing, as with all couples, to love each other for as long as they both shall live.

"Enraged by this act of rebellion, the kings and queens of both nations ordered the two young lovers to be hunted down. Upon their capture, Ekshith and Alaba plead for understanding. Their love was not limited to earthly restrictions; it would live on, even after their hearts had returned to the dirt. The prosecutors, unmoved, took this as a challenge. So they cursed the lovers, transforming them into fireflies to live out the remainder of their lives, their lights a flag of their betrayal to their people."

Byleth listened intently, watching as Seteth recited the story, eyes trained on his exposed neck-- on his Adam's apple, again, fascinated as it moved while he drank intermittently. "I'm confused…. You said this was a tragedy?"

"Indeed. Fireflies only live for a single moon."

He blinked. "I don't… quite understand."

"Is that not horrible?" Seteth said. "Knowing that your end is close? Having only a month to spend with your beloved because you so dared to say you would spend your life with them and your life is only a number of days?"

Byleth said nothing to this, merely turning his eyes to the same grand sky. 

The noise had died down inside the tavern. Perhaps Catherine had beaten all the other patrons into submission, or maybe their drinks had finally taken effect and the rowdy crew had settled into a collective nap. Chairs scraped across the ground as they were slid back into place and broken tables were tossed outside. A lonely broom scratched and twinkled as it swept up broken glass.

Life was always so. There was no one on Earth who was not aware of their mortality-- oblivious to the sands of time rushing past, coasting everyone along in its forceful current. And still, there was not a soul who did not strive to live in spite of this. In the face of the inevitable, people endeavored to love and be loved.

Did Seteth not... think the same?

His heart ached, jealous of Ekshith and Alaba's love. Envious of the month they were granted to spend together, when he himself yearned for one more minute of this moment. He longed for one more second of the quiet the two of them spent beneath the endless black of the heavens, beside the one he so fervently wished to call his own. If that one second were the remainder of his lifespan, so be it, so long as he could be beside--

How _lucky_ Ekshith and Alaba were.

Yet Byleth said nothing on the matter.

The professor slid onto the ground to sit, and with some hesitation, Seteth followed suit.

"Did you want to see it?" Byleth asked him.

"No, not really."

"Because you don't like Ekshith." Said more like a question, but it had some finality to it.

"Because I couldn't stand the thought of Alois' loud bellyaching."

…

"Oh. You are joking." The professor blinked. Seteth was capable of doing that?

"Yes," he said with a chuckle, and the sound made Byleth's stomach jump and heat up like oil in a pan.

"I think I would have enjoyed it," Byleth said, hugging his knees to his chest. "We never go to the theater."

Seteth made a noncommittal noise and held out his glass to the other. His heart skipped a beat, thinking maidenly thoughts like how their lips were going to indirectly touch if he drank from it. Gingerly, he took it and sipped, taking his time, before passing it back. "Perhaps we'll go next time-- just the two of us."

"Are you drunk?" Byleth said with a nervous simper.

"Perhaps. Are you drunk?"

"Perhaps."

They shared a laugh, the happy pink flush of their drinks gleaming on their cheeks.

"Next month?" His voice was small and frail, like the last thing in Pandora's box: hope.

"If you'd like." He smiled into his drink, glowing gold under the lantern light, a halo around his silhouette. Holy. Out of reach. "I'm rather excited for the next show. I think you would enjoy it."

Byleth had to look away, and turned his gaze towards the firmament. The stars shone less brightly than Seteth did. It was easier on the eyes. "Tell me about it."

The two of them sat, neither touching nor looking at each other, and when Seteth finished they talked well into the night about plays and books. They talked of tales of chivalry and triumph and love, some fictional, some their own, confessing unto the cosmos. Each time a star shot across the sky-- a firefly racing to be reunited with its other half-- the professor made a wish.

**Author's Note:**

> this was literally the first thing i'd ever written for fe3h... lol i was a setleth whore from the very start... anyways it's been sitting in my google docs for a whole year so here....


End file.
